Hi guys. I'm back yet again. Three blogs in one week, almost like old times...
Let me start by telling you a story from the year 1968. The likely month is January. My family had just moved to Northridge from Reseda. I was 7 years 9 months old. This was to be my first semester at Prairie Street School, after attending Lorne Street from kindergarten through the first half of third grade. I started at Prairie after the Christmas break and found my new classmates friendly. Several introduced themselves right away (possibly at the teacher's suggestion).
But there were two boys who didn't like me, and my first day at Prairie ended on a frightening note.
These boys were older. They were at least one grade ahead of me. I don't know how they knew (or knew of) me, but they were waiting for me by the gate when school was over. They had mean, scowling faces. One had straight, light brown hair hanging over his brow.
They closed in on me and said something like, "We don't want you at our school", or "We don't want your kind at our school." I don't recall if they poked me in the chest or physically threatened me, but I was scared. A teacher saw them and told them to leave me alone.
Well, I don't know if this next part happened the same day or a few days later, but one day very close to my first encounter with these boys, they harrassed me again, this time chasing me on their bikes as I rode home from school. I was riding down Sunburst Avenue in what is now called "Sherwood Forest". I must've got there from Zelzah instead of cutting through the college, but I was new to Northridge and maybe didn't yet know my way around. Or maybe the mean boys chased me in that direction, I don't know. I remember pedaling as fast as I could to get away from them, but they were older, taller and stronger than me, and they caught up to me near the intersection of Sunburst and Osborne.
They knocked me off my bike and I went sprawling in the street, less than fifty yards from my family's new house. I was terrified of these boys and thought they were gonna beat me up. The worst part was that I didn't know why.
Fortunately, an older boy saw this happen, a teenager, sixteen or seventeen. A surfer-type, blonde hair and a tan. He seemed to know who the mean boys were because he didn't ask questions. He didn't say, "What's going on here? Who are you guys and why did you push that kid off his bike?" He just told the two boys to get on their bikes and leave, to never bother me again, and if they did, he would kick their asses. Then he told me to pick my bike up and go home. The two boys never bothered me after that, at least not while I attended Prairie Street School.
Their names were Paul and Donald. And they both live in Northridge to this day.
Now let us fast forward to 1983, and continue with the Chi-Chi's Incident on Super Bowl Sunday.
I have more detail from that incident to reveal. It came in clear as a bell in meditation. Shortly after her confrontation with Gary Patterson at his table, I asked Lys what was going on. She said something like "I wish I could tell you but I can't", and when I pressed her, she said: "Adam, think of it this way. What if you had the opportunity to be part of something that would really make a difference in the world, would you take it?" She may have put this in first-person terms: "I was asked to join (this cause) (this group) where I'll have an opportunity to really do something important with my life."
I also have a follow-up detail from Chi-Chi's that happened after the incident, perhaps the next day. You'll recall the piece of paper I mentioned Gary writing on. That image persisted in the meditation, thus I felt it was important. I'm still not certain what that paper contained. My best guess was Gary's phone number (as noted in the previous blog) or a list of names. I am sure he gave me that paper (which could've been a restaurant napkin, a piece of torn newsprint or a pocket notebook page), and I folded it up and put it in my wallet.
This next part is very important. I remember it clearly: David Friedman phoned the next day (or came to my house), saying, "Do you have that piece of paper Gary gave you? He wants it back." I must have looked in my wallet or shirt pocket, and I didn't have the paper, which I specifically remember was folded up. I told Friedman I didn't have it, and I thought the matter was over. But he asked me again, the same day or soon after. "Gary wants that paper. Can you try to find it? Did you give it to someone?" I think I got upset at that point and said something like, "Look, Freedy, I don't even know Gary. He sat down at my table and harrassed me. I don't have his piece of paper. I've looked for it and I can't find it. Tell him to stop bothering me." Friedman insinuated that finding the paper was a big deal. He called a third time to say: "If you do eventually find it, Gary says to tear it up and throw it away". I said I would do that, "now please F off."
That's where the Chi-Chi's memory stood as of yesterday. But yesterday was a landmark, folks. And not in a good way, either. I had a horrible, awful memory come back, of an incident at Dennis's Reading Room studio. I don't know the exact day it happened, but it may closely follow the Chi-Chi's Incident on January 30 because it came out of the same consecutive set of meditations that produced the Chi-Chi's memory.
It began while I was focused on Gary Patterson's piece of paper. I was thinking about David Friedman's repeated phone calls, and I asked myself "what happened next?" Suddenly, I had a vision of Gary on my doorstep, then inside my bedroom, lit with sunshine (indicating the Sun in the west, or afternoon). There were flashes of someone with him. Friedman? Dennis? I don't know. Gary says: "Do you have that piece of paper? I need it." This was followed by an image of glinting steel handcuffs. I am 95% certain that Gary came to my house wanting the paper, and I said, "I already told Freedy I don't have it." I think Gary didn't believe me, and threatened me. As I write, I'm getting an image of Gary looking through my wallet, then finally saying (paraphrase) "Okay, I guess you are telling the truth". I don't know if he put me in handcuffs in my bedroom, or used other means to intimidate me, but this is what came up next:
I got a sudden flash from Dennis's Reading Room studio, which he'd only recently acquired. In this flash image, I saw myself alone, sitting in that studio in handcuffs, and I immediately got a chill down my spine.
I knew - right away - that it represented a horrific memory of an actual incident. I maintained my slow breathing (a meditative technique) and let it play out, and what it showed was this:
Dennis detained and tortured me and held me captive in his studio on an afternoon in early 1983. The "Polaroid" of this memory is still developing, but what was clear in the meditation was that his mask of sanity was off. He had me in handcuffs. He wouldn't let me go. I don't know the specific reason this happened, but it may have been because of a drug transaction or whatever Gary Patterson was alluding to when he came to my table at Chi-Chi's.
It's important to note that - if it was a drug transaction - it likely involved a lot of money, and I was not involved in the transaction. I didn't use cocaine, and I never sold or distributed drugs.
Dennis had counterfeit money, and was dealing cocaine at the time. What came out during the memory of this incident was his well-hidden hatred and jealousy of me. I believe he made comments about Lillian. He may have had "the usual tools" of these bad guys: a cattle prod, switchblade, handcuffs, other things with which to bind me. Possible electrical devices, though none of those were prominent in the meditation.
What was prominent was that someone wanted Dennis to let me go, and he wouldn't do it. He told me he could (beat the shit out of me) or (break my legs). He was emotionally out of control. This incident lasted several hours. He made his jealousy of me and Lillian clear. He expressed his hatred of me. It was like he was another person from the Dennis I thought I knew, but in fact, this was the real Dennis.
He wouldn't let me go.
Someone came to the studio to try to negotiate my release. Was it Pat Fordyce? I'm not sure. Dennis's counterfeit money may have been an issue. I know all of the stolen Zilch equipment was set up inside the studio. Dennis did not try to hide it. Whatever he was angry about, he took it out on me, in a situation that I would classify as one rung below what Jared Rappaport did to me on September 2, 1989. What Dennis did was very bad, and criminal, and it got buried for 42 years.
This is no joke, folks. But what am I to do with all this knowledge? It's a hell of a thing to find all of this stuff out at 65 years old, and to feel that my adult life has been one long attack by bad people.
We'll continue with more 1983 revelations very soon, maybe even two days from now.
I'm stunned, folks, and I don't know what to say.
Thanks for reading, back soon, tons of love.
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